


Perception

by theladysnark (corpsesoldier)



Category: BioShock Infinite
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-13 12:53:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corpsesoldier/pseuds/theladysnark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rosalind questions why no one seems to notice Robert.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perception

It is midday in Columbia, and the noon sun reflects brightly off the buildings of Emporia Towers where the rich and well-connected make their homes. If one saw no other parts of the fair floating city, if they ignored the harsh reality of Finkton and Shanty Town (which, admittedly, many do) it is astonishingly easy to believe that it's somehow heaven on Earth, as Comstock so ardently claims. However, Rosalind Lutece does not stop to admire the cheerful sunshine, instead storming down the cobbled street from Comstock House to her own lab. Several other residents watch her pass, notice the grim line of her mouth, and wisely move to avoid her on the street. She is home within minutes.

“Robert?” Rosalind is hardly through their front door before she is calling her twin's name, the word questioning and uncertain.

“In the kitchen,” comes his response and she finds him calmly scratching an equation onto the blackboard. “And how was our visit with the eminent Prophet today?”

Rosalind leans against the counter and frowns. “Troubling.”

“How so?” He turns to her, looking puzzled. “Is the girl-?”

“Not the girl. I had a rather...strange conversation with Comstock. Involving you. He asked me when he would be allowed the pleasure of meeting this brother I so often speak of.”

“I'm afraid I don't understand.”

“Nor do I, as we both know perfectly well he has made your acquaintance several times, has he not?”

“Certainly he has.”

“And yet he maintains he knows nothing about you beyond what I've told him.”

Robert has put down the chalk now and is watching her, not looking nearly as perturbed as she believes he ought. “Perhaps his memory is failing? He says he is suffering headaches now; the sickness could have spread to his brain.”

A pause. “I did not yet tell you about his headaches.”

“Pardon?”

She looks up and stares intently into his face, so like her own it is almost dizzying. She does not know what she expects to find; there's only confusion and concern in his eyes.

“I said, I did not tell you Comstock was suffering from headaches. He told me that today, Robert, just now as I was out.” Her voice has risen nearly to a shout and she wants answers to questions she will not allow herself to ask. She wants her counterpart to explain all this away with cold, clear logic. She wants him to smile mockingly and tell her she's worrying for nothing.

Instead his face becomes impassive, as though he is hiding something, and her heart beats faster when she realizes she cannot read him. “What is it you want me to say, dear?”

“I want you to tell me why Comstock does not know you.” She begins to pace, looking as the ground to avoid his gaze. “I want you to tell me why I cannot recall a _single_ person ever addressing you directly. I want an explanation, Robert.”

“I believe you're already composing a hypothesis.”

And she stops and she still doesn't look at him, because he's right, and for the first time in her life she doesn't want her theory to be correct. Because the implications of the question dancing at the edge of her mind stand poised to tear her world to pieces.

Suddenly he is beside her, supporting her, and doubts blossom once more. He tips her chin up with two fingers and she resolves to meet his eyes. His smile is almost sad. “Ask me, then,” he prompts.

“Do you exist?”

“Probably. Almost certainly, considering the nature of infinite possible universes-”

“Do you exist _here_ , now, with me?”

“Ah. I suppose that's debatable. What is reality if not perception? But in the manner you mean, no, I do not.”

“And you never have.”

“No.”

Rosalind can think of no response to that, can only manage to wander into the parlor and fall heavily into one of the chairs. She makes a valiant effort to come to terms with the truth, and she does recognize it as the truth. It's painfully obvious now what she had done: been so lonely as to manufacture a companion from whole cloth, and been so narcissistic to make that companion precisely her in every important aspect. The whole situation is ridiculously tragic and she might have laughed if she did not feel so much like crying.

As it is, she does neither. Instead she watches as Robert enters the room and, oddly hesitant, crouches before her. She's slightly surprised he's still there, not well-versed in what is meant to happen after realizing your friend and counterpart is imaginary. Apparently, he does not just wink out of existence.

“I'm still you, you know,” he says gently. “Just not exactly in the way you believed.”

And again, he's right. She looks at him, tracing the familiar planes of his face, her face, wondering how he could look so real. He places a reassuring hand on her knee, and that too feels real, and what is reality if not perception?

“Does this change anything?” He asks.

After a moment, she laces her fingers through his. “No, I suppose it doesn't.”

 


End file.
